


Rough Around the Edges

by 0hHeyThereBigBadWolf



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Human Castiel, Humor, Hunter Castiel, M/M, One Shot, Short & Sweet, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2017-09-27
Packaged: 2019-01-06 04:58:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12204336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0hHeyThereBigBadWolf/pseuds/0hHeyThereBigBadWolf
Summary: After hunting solo for months, a completely human Castiel returns to the bunker to visit the Winchester brothers, although the reunion doesn't quite go according to plan.





	Rough Around the Edges

"So...any word from Cas?" Sam asked as casually as possible as he sat down across the table from Dean, sliding another beer over to his brother. The angel—who had stubbornly kept to his decision to become a hunter now that he was human—had gone off the map as far as the Winchesters were concerned. Every now and again, one of them would get a text that could only come from Castiel, usually along the lines of  _I am alive,_ or  _Not dead._ It was still a touchy subject to Dean, though, and there was no telling whether or not mentioning their feathery friend would set off the elder brother's temper.

"No," Dean replied without looking up from the laptop, the single word coming out short and clipped.

End of discussion. "Alright then." Sam looked back down at the open pages in front of him. It was hard to believe how much  _stuff_ there was in this bunker sometimes. The Men of Letters had certainly believed in covering all the bases. It was like taking Dad's journal and multiplying it by a thousand. Man, Bobby would've loved it here.

The sound of Dean's phone blaring AC/DC's "TNT" made them both jump in surprise, it was so quiet. Sam saw Dean's face change in an instant, and before he could ask why, Dean had answered the phone, switching it to speaker. "Cas, you alright?" he asked.

 _"Hello, Dean. It's good to speak to you again as well,"_ came the arid reply, and Sam was just the littlest bit proud that his surreptitious coaching on sarcasm hadn't been lost on the angel.  _"Are you and Sam in the bunker?"_

"Yeah, why?"

_"Would you be so kind as to let me in, then? The front door is locked, and I would prefer not to be killed by whatever warding I am sure is installed by picking the lock."_

For a moment, they both stared at the phone, exchanging a disbelieving look over the table. "Wait a minute, you're  _here?"_ Sam clarified.

_"Obviously. Need I remind you that I am human now, and it is raining quite heavily outside at the moment?"_

"Right, right, sorry. I'm coming." Seeing as how Dean looked to be frozen in his chair with shock, he jumped to his feet and took the stairs two at a time, putting his long legs to good use. He unlocked the door and pulled it open, and indeed, Castiel was standing on the other side, hunched in the doorway with his back to the rain, which was practically coming down sideways. The former angel ducked inside, and he shoved the door shut again, having to force it against the wind.

"Thank you," Castiel said through chattering teeth, shaking himself like a dog and flinging water everywhere.

"Wow, Cas, you look...different," Sam admitted after getting a good look at the other man.

Castiel's hair was longer than he remembered, plastered down with water, and he had about a day's worth of stubble shadowing his jaw. He wore several layers of clothing—a leather jacket over a dark grey hoodie, a plaid shirt unbuttoned over a black t-shirt, and a pair of jeans with ladders in both knees, and motorcycle boots. There was a long-ass knife strapped to one thigh, and unless Sam was mistaken, there was a gun holster or two under those layers, and in his right hand, Castiel held a heavy-duty crossbow. When he noticed Sam staring, he explained, "I had an angry fey chasing me. It is very unwise to let them near enough for hand-to-hand combat, and they do detest iron."

"Right. Here, come on in, I'll get you a towel. You're gonna catch a cold standing around in wet clothes."

"Yes, I will. I find that I don't mind being human as such, but your petty illnesses are...distracting."

Sam let out a little bark of laughter. He hadn't realised how much he had missed that unique brand of Cas-humour until now. "Tell me about it." They went back downstairs—Castiel dripping a trail behind him—and Dean hadn't moved from his chair, still holding his phone in one hand and staring at their friend with wide eyes.

"Hello, Dean," Castiel greeted, pushing his wet hair back out of his eyes with his free hand, though the effect made him look like a very damp and disgruntled hedgehog.

"Dude...you look like crap," Dean replied at last, though the jibe lacked its usual enthusiasm. "Looks like you're a real hunter now. Plaid shirt and everything, huh?"

The corners of Castiel's mouth turned up slightly. "Indeed. I see why you wear them so often now. They're quite comfortable."

"Yeah, not to mention easy to get more of. Here, these should fit you," Sam added as he returned from the laundry room with a towel and a change of dry clothes. "So you've been hunting?"

"Thank you. And yes." Castiel peeled off both his jackets in one movement, then the plaid shirt, draping them over a chair back. He must've been out in the rain for a while, as he had been soaked all the way through his layers. He was wearing a gun holster, too, with a Browning in the shoulder holster, and a Firestar tucked in the back of his jeans. He set both guns on the table and shrugged off the holster before proceeding to roughly dry his hair with the towel. "I have even found other angels. Most are scared, confused, but they are adjusting to being human quite well. Some are...very angry," he said, a distant look briefly coming to his eyes, but before either brother could ask, he'd shaken it off and asked, "Are you both well?" 

"Yeah, we are. For the most part, anyways," Sam answered; Dean didn't look like he was up for speaking at the moment, still in his chair with that distinct '404 Error' expression on his face that meant he was mentally stalled at the moment.

 "What do you mean, for the most part? Has something happened while I was gone?" Castiel queried, taking the towel from his head. His hair was mostly dry, but now it stuck up in every possible direction, only furthering that hedgehog look.

"Well—" Sam was cut off from an abrupt noise from Dean that sounded like a cat trying to bring up a hairball, which was probably due to the fact that Castiel had pulled the t-shirt off over his head, adding it to the pile of sodden clothes on the chair. The angel was lean and pale but surprisingly fit, the life of a hunter demanding such things, and there were even a few scars, recent ones, that proved his healing mojo was gone. But Dean was staring at the tattoos, the anti-possession tattoo inked on his collarbone and the Enochian letters that curled around both biceps and the backs of his shoulders, more angelic symbols trailing down his back.

Before Sam could ask why the hell Dean was being so weird, something was being dangled in front of his face, so close he went a little cross-eyed trying to see what it was before leaning back. It was the keys to the Impala. "Drive," Dean ordered in a hoarse voice. "Just drive. Anywhere. For a long time."

"In this weather? Dean, what are you—?" Sam asked, but snapped his mouth shut when he saw the expression his brother was sporting. Last time Dean had looked at someone like that, Sam hadn't seen him for the rest of the night, and he'd shown up the next morning with hickeys all over his neck. Baffled, he looked back at Castiel, mouth open to ask what was going on because he was clearing missing  _something,_ but he closed it again without uttering a word. Castiel was still standing there, a dry shirt in hand though he didn't look at all in a hurry to put it on, staring right back at Dean with the smallest of smiles playing at his mouth again.

"O-oh.  _Oh,"_ he gasped in realisation, the pieces falling together with a resounding click as he looked between them, back and forth. "Oh, my  _God,_ you guys are— Holy shit."

"Sammy, either drive or go in your room and don't come out," Dean warned.

"Oh, my God," Sam repeated, making a face because the idea of his brother and his best friend having sex was just...gross.

"I suggest you stop taking my Father's name in vain and leave, Sam," Castiel suggested in a voice that was more of an order than a suggestion.

And  _that_ was his cue to leave. "Yep. Leaving. Got it," he muttered, leaping out of his chair and bolting for the stairs because no way in hell was he going to sit in his room knowing very well what was going on outside his door. At least in the car he could go somewhere without worrying about going blind. "Any surfaces where food is eaten or prepared are off-limits!" he shouted over his shoulder as he yanked on his jacket, nearly putting it on inside-out in haste.

"Get out!" Dean and Castiel shouted back in unison.

"Gone!" Sam ducked out the door and ran through the garage to the Impala. He scrambled into the car and hastily started the engine, peeling out into the pounding rain. He shook his head a little, shuddering. He hadn't seen  _that_ coming, that was damn sure. As he switched on the windshield wipers, he cringed a little and made a mental note to disinfect that table when he got back.

**Author's Note:**

> I know that there's a lot of Sammy-knows-they're-a-thing-even-if-they-don't fics out there, but this is always what I imagined what would happen if he didn't know. Dean and Cas have always acted that way around each other, so he thinks its normal, but then when it hits him it's like...oh. Oh. (O.O)


End file.
